


Down and Dirty with a Handless Mannequin (F)

by thosepeanutbuttervibes



Category: SCP - Containment Breach, SCP Foundation
Genre: F/M, Grinding, Masturbation, Object Sexuality, Orgasm, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pure Lust, Sex with a mannequin, handjobs (kinda), objectophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21540517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thosepeanutbuttervibes/pseuds/thosepeanutbuttervibes
Summary: We all know SCP-650 is an anomalous object that always tries to get a reaction out of people by suddenly appearing behind them at random times, but never moves and is never hostile. What if a certain fanfiction author twisted this idea so that SCP-650 would try to get a sexual reaction instead?This story includes a FEMALE narrator. There is also a MALE version on my profile.
Relationships: Narrator/SCP-650
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Down and Dirty with a Handless Mannequin (F)

**Author's Note:**

> dont ask me why i thought this was a good idea. i really dont know. 
> 
> give me feedback on this, if you would please ^^ im going to check comments frequently. i really would like to improve on my writing, even if i dont write as much as i would like

Consciousness ebbed back into me, and slowly my senses started to make sense of where I was. The ground was cold and concrete. The air: dry and dusty. All around me it was silent and dark (I hadn’t opened my eyes). Meanwhile, my head throbbed in immense pain. I lifted my arm to rub my forehead, and found that my joints popped with the simple movements. Tiny ripples of pain went through every muscle that moved. A groan slipped out of my mouth. The spot that hurt was very tender, and a little swollen. I guessed I had hit my head somehow.

Light suddenly stabbed into my eyes like swords when I opened them just a teensy bit. Again I groaned. After a bit of massaging on my eyelids, I dared to look again, and saw that I was in an unfamiliar room. It was all cold and concrete by the looks of it, even from the floor where I laid. Dim, too, despite how my eyes were stabbed. 

Slowly and through the stiffness, I brought myself to my feet and stretched like a cat awakening from a nice nap. My joints were so stiff that I had probably been laying where I was for hours. Alright, so I was unconscious for hours, and I hit my head somehow, and that would explain why I didn’t remember this room; however, there was nothing in sight I could have hit my head on. Maybe I was just that clumsy. Anyway, that was what _was_ . _Now_ remembering where I was might have been helpful, but getting out probably was more important. I had a feeling I wasn’t supposed to be here.

First: bearings. The room was square with a rounded wall that jutted inwards like the outside of a cylinder. A yellow band of paint covered the wall with the cylinder, with the code CH-13 printed over it in black letters. Doors were on either side of the cylinder. One of them had to be the way out.

Second: pick a door. The one directly left of the cylinder gave me some darn good vibes. The green, glowing touchpad to its right was the key to opening it: a basic statement, yes, but it took me longer to figure out than I’d like to admit. I digress, the door still opened and I still went through. Easy peasy, problem solved. 

The room on the other side was much more disappointing than the last. It was still concrete, but much smaller. To the right, however, was a large glass window. On the other side was a room that mirrored the one I was in, with a slight difference: in the center was a tall, black mannequin. How peculiar. I couldn’t help but walk up to the glass. It was black, polished, and obviously crafted by an expert. Its sheen was lustrous and captivating, as was its pose. Here it stood in the middle of its room, facing away from me, and looking like it was about to have a beat-down with the wall. I mean, its stubs-for-fists were raised and everything. I couldn’t help but grin.

Perched in the corners of the room were strobe lights and cameras. Looked like pretty heavy security for a mannequin. I shrugged on my way out the door; maybe it was one-of-a-kind, or a priceless heirloom. If so, it deserved better than a concrete showcase.

The left side of my first room hadn’t given me much luck, so I went for the right next. 

Once through the door, I turned around to close it and the mannequin stood right there. Its head was angled to look right at me, and it stood straight like a soldier. Obviously, it was defying the laws of physics by moving through its enclosed room, but it didn’t seem threatening. No, right now it was just… following me. Maybe analyzing me. Would that thing even be capable of thought? Well, either way, this could be fun. 

I closed the door and turned my back to walk through the next room to another door. Blah, blah, blah, it was made of concrete and had a bunch more doors to choose from, blah, blah, next door opened. I turned around before crossing rooms and saw the mannequin again. This time it was bent forward a bit, still standing, and had one would-be hand against its chin, and the other on its hip. The damn thing _was_ analyzing me! I called it! It looked so sassy too. I had to turn away as I laughed because it felt so embarrassing to laugh at a physics-defying mannequin. 

When I turned back to look again, the analyzing mannequin was only a foot away from me, squatting, and also looking directly at my crotch. Real, humiliating embarrassment washed over me. Instantly I was backing away. Instantly my hands flew to cover the growing heat between my legs.

“Hey, mannequin…” I stuttered out. “How about you don’t?” I turned around and started walking away. Mid-step, I had to stop because there it was again. This time it was posed as if it could be looming over me, and that blood flowing to my nether-regions did so itself, I swear! I wasn’t succumbing to any submissive feelings.

I huffed, side-stepped it, and kept walking cool-like. I was such a bad liar. 

Before stepping through the next newly-opened door, temptation took over and I went to take a step and glance behind me. Smooth plastic rubbed against my clothed pussy. Shivers went up my spine. I looked down and sure enough there was a mannequin’s arm shoved between my legs. The movements were only mine, but…

On my tippy-toes, I stepped away and through the door I had come through. This mannequin could not be serious. I looked behind me again, this time with my legs firmly shut. My eyes fell onto the mannequin, again, this time on its knees, looking up at me innocently.

No. Mannequins don’t look innocent. They don’t look like anything other than fucking mannequins. Why was I debating this? I fully turned my body around. I was stiff, done, fed-up; yet, I couldn’t resist indulging my eyes again.

The mannequin was… in an interesting pose. It was squatting, while leaning back and supporting itself with one arm. The other was positioned just above its groin, as if stroking something with a hand. My face was flaring. If this was bait, and it most certainly was, I was falling for it, but my urges did not care. My heart thumped in my ears, ever reminding me of the desire flourishing between my legs. My body was getting heated and my body wanted, demanded satisfaction. It drew me closer, one step at a time toward the mannequin.

I squatted and the mere rubbing of my clothing had me hitching my breath. Then I reached out. My hand grabbed for a cock that wasn’t there and I started stroking, imagining the skin pulling with the motion of my hand. My teeth pressed into my bottom lip and heat flushed in my cheeks and fingers. If only those hips of the mannequin’s could be moving against my hand. If only it could push into my hand in desperation, its body craving the sensations and chemicals that made its body run. If only it had vocal cords, low and smooth, that could cry out without meaning to when I sped up or stopped. This thing was getting me soaked.

My pussy was wet to the touch. I couldn’t tease my clit for long before I was fingering myself. Tiny squelching noises amplified and echoed in the empty room, as did my breathy moans. Every inward thrust of my fingers forced a whimper out of me, but it wasn’t enough. No, not nearly so.

I got up suddenly and faced away from the mannequin. I wanted it to see I wanted it; I wanted it to give me itself and give me more. Hurriedly, I pulled off my shirt, unhooked my bra, and slid down both my pants and panties in one go. Gosh, my need was so obvious: I could see the hardness of my nipples, and the red flush across my chest. All the while my heart pounded away in my ears. 

I whipped around and the mannequin’s new position tanged eagerness in my stomach: hunched over a bit, knees bent, hands wrapped around in the front, with one higher and one lower than the other. _Oh baby, you want me too?_ The position was hard to get into, but such a turn-on. I was sitting in the lap of a mannequin with one stubby hand against my clit and the other just under my tits. A voice that didn’t exist gave me a countdown to start.

I ground into its pelvis like a bitch in heat. My juice coated its smooth finish, making it easier to grind against a cock that I kept imagining. I just wanted to be fucked, to have someone holding me from behind and slamming themself into me, making my tits bounce and my legs quiver, and my moans fall like drool. There was no self-control here. Shamelessly, I screamed and whimpered and whined. I held onto the thing’s arms and begged it to go harder, and gasped when my pleasure intensified. I fondled my own tits roughly and teased my nipples, telling it to never stop. Never stop fucking me, ever.

I reached around for its neck and told it I was close. I told it to keep going, to make me cum hard like a good girl, to make me lose my mind and only think about getting fucked more. My hips never stopped grinding as my body shook and my eyes rolled into my head. I was struck silent as an invisible wave washed over and through me. My toes curled, head threw itself back, voice lurched. Pure pleasure shot through me like ripples in water, bouncing back into me at the tips of my fingers and toes, back in over and over, going straight into my brain and flooding it with oxytocin. 

The smell of a musty room was never so sweet, and the salty sweat so addicting. Air ripped itself from my lungs and crudely pushed back in; my throat stung with pain, but the pain was _so_ _good_.

Then the dust settled. Breaths slowed, and became smoother. The sensation of being sticky was all over my body, disgustingly. My hair stuck to my scalp like a wet mop. Dull pain ran up the lengths of my inner thighs, begging me to move and lay down and nap for a hundred years or so. Still, smooth plastic arms held my limp body up by the torso, and a big plastic head nuzzled motionlessly into the side of my neck. Like a puppet pulling my own strings, I raised a hand to caress that plastic, non-existent face. The corners of my mouth lifted up just so. Funny, how fuzzy my brain felt for a piece of plastic.

With some difficulty, I untangled myself from the mess of limbs I had been in, walked over to my clothes, and promptly flopped onto the floor. God, was I tired. My body rose and fell as my lungs inhaled and exhaled. The dust was stifling, and the cold tickled my skin and left me goose-bumped, but moving could wait a bit. Thoughts began to race through my head. My body was a wonderful cocktail of bone-tiredness and post-orgasm happiness. I felt like I just had my first sexual experience. The curiosity and sense of exploration I had felt back then was akin to what I had just felt... with a mannequin. I didn't know what that said about my ex.

Eventually, though I'm not sure how long I waited, I pulled myself up, slipped on my underwear and tugged on my other clothes. My movements weren't perfectly steady yet, but I was only bound to get better. Curiosity still had me looking back; I saw the mannequin on its knees, perched on its heels. I hesitated. Then I walked to the mannequin for the last time. I cupped its face in my hands, and placed a kiss on its forehead. No arms wrapped around me and pulled me close. I let go, and walked through the door to another dusty, gray room.

" **Description:** SCP-650 is a black statue of a stylized humanoid 167cm tall. The statue does not possess hands or facial features: the limbs taper off into rounded points and the head is a smooth surface all around... If the statue is not being observed, it will relocate itself to a point immediately behind whomever is in the containment site and assume a threatening posture... not yet shown any signs of active aggression or hostility... it is theorized that this may simply be a secondary method of generating reactions.

**Addendum:** Following a containment breach on ██/██/████ at roughly 0200 hours, SCP-650 was found in a room adjacent to its containment chamber. Dried vaginal fluids belonging to Dr. ████ were found on the subject's pelvis. The reasons for the placement of Dr. ████'s fluids and why she was in the building at the hour is still unclear due to her amnesia and security equipment malfunctions."

  
  
  
  
  



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